


The delicate finality of escapes

by shizuruu



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, AU, Depressing, Loki-centric, Multi, Weird, just a bunch of words, okay and a bit darcy-centric too i guess, they have a real cool broship in this, unrequited thorki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shizuruu/pseuds/shizuruu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ugh, this shit's all written up, simply waiting to be translated and published. Also if you don't get something from the context, ask me. I tend to write in a lot of riddles and metaphors and stuff. Happy 1 million fanworks to everyone and especially to ao3!</p></blockquote>





	The delicate finality of escapes

Thirty-two shades of sadness are reserved exclusively for the upcoming wedding, twelve for the birth of the (unwelcome and unwanted) child, ten for those moments, when **he** is touching her with gentleness in his eyes and love in his heart and his whole being radiates with kindness.

 

But overall forty-eight belong to those moments when he looked at Loki in that way, patted him on the back so brotherly, hugged him jokingly and kissed him on the cheek with the innocence and naivety of a child, or maybe rather an overly hyped puppy and smiled – in this really nice and wide and charming way. Because in every such moment Loki would smile but shake him off, because that’s what he was, should be, had to be – it was expected of him. And his eyes would glisten but only for a while and then he would remember once again, that Thor is just his brother and that he’s getting married and that it’s really not as much of an apocalypse as he makes it out to be, though he feels like it is and so he would drink some coffee and smile but in fact he wants nothing more than to be safe and at home once again.

 

However some wishes will keep being mere wishes and so he stays at his adopted brother’s long into the night in his flat and talks with him about which tuxedo will suit him the most and about his vow and “I’m really happy for you” and “You’re a lucky man” and yeah, Thor may be a lucky and happy man but in all that mess, people kinda forgot about Loki’s happiness. But Loki learned not to say a thing and not to require compassion because people like him don’t deserve any. Well that’s at least what he remembered from all those fairy tales for little kids that he used to laugh at as a child and today he still laughs at them but in a different way, because not all laughter is of the same kind and the current one is a bit more mature; more desperate, stupider and sadder and more strict and more boring just like his whole life right now.

 

Personal tragedies are always much bigger for the person they’re happening to, than any genocide could ever hope to be.

 

He’s returning home and rummages through his coat for keys. He forgot them.

 

Now he has to knock on his neighbor’s door – the one on the left, because he’s pretty sure she’s still wide awake and has to use his charm to convince her that he’s doing fine and he’s smiling once again, teeth pressed tight together and eyes glassy and empty, just like those marbles that kids used to play with when they were younger, that fascinated them… before they were forgotten in favor of shinier things – oh yes, his eyes looked just like that and his long hair is slicked back and it reminds him – he should have his hair cut. His neighbor completely believes anything he says to her and she’s wearing a dress that he’s sure he would wear in a much better way than she does if he tried, she can’t wear them with the necessary elegance and magnificence and maybe if he felt sorry for her, he would give her some advice, but he doesn’t feel sorry for her, he doesn’t care about her and so he enters his dark flat, smokes a cigarette near the window and throws it down on the sidewalk.

 

It’s around midnight already and nobody is on the streets – the rest of this town is still alive only here it looks as though time has stopped here and the silence is so uncomfortably general, that he has to stop for a while and listen to the cars, only to assure himself that it’s not all that quiet.

 

The absurd flowerpot hanging from the opposite balcony is knocked over at 4:22 am by a cat. The cat meows loudly as if to protest. Loki is still watching the city.

 

Finally, at 4:28, he decides to go to sleep.

 

The next morning he’s woken up by – who else would it be, honestly – his brother calling him, because it just couldn’t wait until later, ‘cause Jane gave birth and it’s a girl, but she still has no name. Loki congratulates them both, very honestly, well at least he makes it seem so, because that’s how it should be down and his manners should go first, right? But deep in his soul he wants to skin the child: very slowly and relish in the cries, and then ear it, tear the meat with his teeth (the potential strength of human jaws is astonishing, really) and throw the bones down on the sidewalk, just like that cigarette yesterday, where there’s no one and nothing except for cats and cigarettes and flowerpots.  And then he would watch their lives crumble, watch them die and their relationship break and Thor would only be looking at him once again and not at her (and it doesn’t matter how he’s watching him, the most important thing is that he is watching). And everything would be the way it should be then, but instead he says goodbye to Thor and goes to sleep again (and the stinging sensation in his eyes was definitely nothing such as tears).

 

This time he wakes up in the afternoon, outside it’s sunny and thin, inaccurate sunshine is being projected on his bed. He gets up and takes on a shirt, that is most likely not even his. He doesn’t know where he got it from but it’s very well possible that it was left here by someone he had slept with in the past, actually it’s the only logical explanation but the omelet he just made is much more interesting and so instead of trying to figure out the origins of the mysterious article, he has breakfast at 14:52 sharp. He is quick and soon he is out of the door in his new coat, heading towards the nearest café, where Frigga awaits him.

 

She hasn’t lost any of her beauty and youth with age, only the bags under her eyes are a bit darker and her smile looks a bit more but she still hasn’t stopped being the most important and the most enchanting woman in his life – though there really weren’t all that many women in his life

 

She’s sitting close to the window and her hair is tied in a bun, that didn’t resemble anything strict like those hairstyles tend to do, on the contrary, it gave her this sense, this atmosphere, smell of magnolias and almonds, with a tiny bit of a fresh summer day, although it was the cruel winter ruling over their world right now.

 

When he approaches the table, she stands up to hug him. A bit smaller than him, but it still makes him feel like a ten year old boy all over again when he buries his head between her neck and her shoulder and her laughter travels pleasantly through her throat to the rest of her body and vibrates through the air like a fountain made of home.

 

She greets him and asks: how are you and he answers: I’m doing well, mother, everything’s excellent, you know, it could be worse, it’s not exactly amazing but that shouldn’t surprise you but you’re the one that matters, what about you, how are you doing and she nods frantically and with urgency in her eyes takes him by both hands, much bigger than hers and it’s so strange because it should be the other way around and she continues: what’s going on, talk to me about it, you know that all I do I do for you, oh god, Loki, I’m so sorry and then he goes: no, mother, it’s alright, there’s nothing to worry about, you can’t help me, don’t worry and smiles with one of those astonishingly fake smiles, that none of them believe in, yet both of them need to pretend it’s real.

 

And then there are tears streaming down her face quietly and she hugs him and he’s suffocating, he’s suffocating because it’s all his fault, that he was born so rotten and disgusting, because such a wonderful woman couldn’t have given birth to anything as horrible and so it made sense that they didn’t share genes and they’re walking by the river, watching the upcoming storm and the silence is eating away at them. Until finally she asks whether he’s talked to his father, that he’s in fact a good man and he answers that no, that man is not his father and an unspoken question hangs in the air while they watch the reflection of a reflection of a reflection on the river’s surface.

 

He comes back home right before evening falls and he has exactly two messages on his recorder: one from Thor and one from Darcy. He decides to play both, though he only listens to half the things that are said, while spreading the butter on his bread. The messages went pretty much like this:

 

"Loki, Jane is coming back from the hospital in three days, but my car’s engine broke and so I was hoping you could take us. Call me,” and “I’m trying to call you and if you don’t call me back within the next hour I’m probably gonna break into your house. So try not to run around naked or something… or maybe… well, never mind, call me, bye.”

 

Loki takes a bite of the bread and looks out of the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, this shit's all written up, simply waiting to be translated and published. Also if you don't get something from the context, ask me. I tend to write in a lot of riddles and metaphors and stuff. Happy 1 million fanworks to everyone and especially to ao3!


End file.
